


Letters from an Angel (June)

by cardinalwrites



Series: Letters from an Angel [6]
Category: SPN, Supernatural
Genre: June - Freeform, M/M, castielsentries, letters from an angel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 16:03:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 17,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8851285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardinalwrites/pseuds/cardinalwrites
Summary: Castiel decided to keep a journal of all that he has thought about humanity, the Winchesters, and their daily lives. Takes you through current season 11 and will at times have destiel worthy canon occurrences from Castiel's point of view as well as episode codas depending on their original air dates. This is June, but the series will go through December.
All posts taken from @castielsentries, which is very active and ongoing so feel free to check it out





	1. June 1, 2016

Hello,

            It has been 6 months... 6 months and my, how much has changed in such a short amount of time. There have been struggles, loss, fights, and potential Armageddon, but even despite all of that the local news continues to celebrate the little moments. Today is no exception, with recent television news speaking of the 90th birthday of one of the most iconic American actresses in American history; Marilyn Monroe.

            I knew very little of the woman prior to Dean having educated me on the subject. He had been a very big admirer of the actress for a variety of reasons. Her acting had been legendary for its time as well as beyond, but her entire persona left generations in awe. It is still just as famous even this long after she had passed.

            I remember a case that revolved around the actress while we were in California once. It was a historic museum that centered around powerful woman in cinematic history, Mrs. Monroe included. There had been reports of sightings of the statues in the museum coming to life, their pendants or other jewelry items reportedly going missing in the process; in essence police had believed it to be nothing more than petty theft. That is, until the local security guards had ended up hanged from the very halls in which they were meant to protect.

            It had taken us time to amass information on the case, and on more than one occasion after we’d made our way into the museum after hours we were nearly beheaded by figures such as Marilyn Monroe, Audrey Hepburn, and Shirley Temple (the latter of which continued to sing her famous song while she nearly severed Sam’s arm from its socket).  The Marilyn figure had nearly managed to kiss Dean at one point (which would have killed him, according to previous accounts), but thankfully Sam had found the talisman that had been animating the figures, destroying it before Dean was rendered senseless. It had not been our brightest moment in way of hunts.

            That had been the most contact I had had with the actress for some time, until recently when I was able to watch some of her older movies and documentaries, but that hunt also brought back memories of the past... It was such a simpler time and we did not know it.

 

Yours,

Castiel

 


	3. June 3, 2016

Hello,

 

I found passage back to the United States safely without arousing too much suspicion, and it seems that I have arrived on a most prestigious day for some Americans: National Donut Day. 

Dean had spoken of this particular holiday in the past, and we have been obliged to spot by a bakery that specializes in the glazed desserts on this day on more than one occasion, but I had not understood an entire country's infatuation with a food item that would warrant a national holiday be celebrated. There was still much for me to learn about popular culture in different countries even then, after all that had happened at that point. Sam had been more averse to indulging in the practice of enjoying more than one donut on this day, but that had only seemed to push Dean further and eat the capacity for the three of us. In hindsight I suppose I should not have been as surprised as I had been during that particular time... He suffered from severe indigestion the next few days however, a major obstacle considering we were conducting a case at the time, coincidentally enough for an abandoned confectionary factory...

There are a variety of different flavors and recipes from my understanding, more than one having been tried by Dean himself after seemingly to not learn his lesson... There was more than one occasion that had him enter a state of heightened senses before an immense crash. Sam had called it a "artery blocking sugar rush." I did not see how sugar could rush, but I suppose when it had come to Dean it was better than him consuming more than a few bottles of beer. He crashed either way, but in the case of sugar he was far more alert... Though he did partake in some questionable practices at the time. 

Perhaps ingesting 28 donuts over the course of 24 hours is never an ideal idea, regardless of situation. 

 

Yours,

Castiel


	4. June 4, 2016

**June 4, 2016**

Hello,

         In having spoken about donuts yesterday I was reminded of the dangers that can come with food poisoning, or rather the term that Sam associated with Dean’s behavior at the time many years ago. It is also a term that I understood in the first degree after having ingested some rather questionable turkey during my time as a human...

         ... That is not a subject with which I would like to write down.

         I will thus spend my time talking about a different experience, therefore as I am currently traveling I am reminded of one of the many times we were nearly forced off the side of the road after a particularly long hunt. I am sure it is common knowledge that human bodies require some sort of sleep for them to function properly, therefore when they are put to the test and stay up for more than a given amount of time, it is very probable for eyesight to cease functioning properly. That had been the case while on the return trip to the bunker after a particularly exhausting hunt for all members involved.

         Sam had already fallen asleep once we had gotten into the Impala, and that had been well over seven hours prior to the following. Dean had been driving for quite a considerable amount of time because he refused to stop at one of the motels in the smaller towns. I tried to keep him company in the form of asking him questions from time to time, but after a while it was obvious he too was starting to drift in his answers. Had it not been that the Impala allowed for me to access the steering wheel quickly Dean would have driven us off the road and into oncoming traffic.

         Sam had woken up quickly upon the car’s sudden stop, but unfortunately both Dean and myself had been catapulted forward, Dean into the wheel and myself into the front seat. After a rather heavy discussion and much prompting on my part to persuade Dean to go to sleep, Sam moved to the backseat and I drove the remainder of the way to Kansas.

The moral of this story is to be wary of sleep deprivation, but Dean never did listen to me. He did eventually sleep, however, but not before moving and nearly falling into my shoulder.

Perhaps he did learn something after all.

 

Yours,

Castiel

 


	5. June 5, 2016

Hello,

            I found myself in a town in Maine today. The weather is very peculiar here, enough to warrant investigation. The New England area is not unfamiliar with snowstorms or erratic weather reports, but one such snowstorm in the midst of a rather early spring can be considered odd if it is severe enough. Temperature is not something I was particularly averse to, but fighting cold weather can be dangerous. It is one of the reasons as to why I enjoy this trench coat so much; cold is no longer a factor, though it was not a major concern to begin with. Angels did not feel vast drops in temperature in the same regard that humans do, but that is something we have inadvertently already discussed.

            Have we discussed temperature as a medium? How difference it can range in just one short part of an area, even more so worldwide. It is a natural phenomenon, and yet it can be manipulated by human interaction. Take the recent rise in the overall temperature of the Earth as a whole, for example. It is the construct that allows for storms to form, for ice to melt, and for grass and life to grow. Without heat there is no vegetation, but likewise without frost there is no ice. Temperature is the proverbial umbrella that houses both realms into one. Is that not intriguing to think about?

            Different ecosystems thrive under distinct temperatures; they could be potentially annihilated if their environment rises or falls over a certain number of degrees. And with other factors such as humidity and wing, it is no wonder why so many animals continued to evolve and adapt over millennia, why the wildlife found today is drastically different than the ones of the early age before recorded history. The needs of life were different. I have seen so many different counts of animals react and adapt to the ever-changing cycles of this world, but that does not mean I have any semblance of idea as to what will possibly happen if the world continues to grow as warm as it is. The animals and plants that humans rely on to survive will no longer be the same, thus the entire chain that is the worldwide ecosystem will fall into a chaos or a rapid degradation. It is a very somber take on what is currently taking place, but so much can be affected by just one subject that it is astounding. Temperature is it’s own being, even if it is not a physical manifestation. It lives and fluctuates with the beings that reside next to it, almost as if it too were a living being that required attention.

            No, that is not right. It is such a thing, because if it changes far too much more than the entire life will shift, will change. It needs to be paid more attention to, but angels cannot interfere with the laws of nature in the same regard that our Father can. Even nature has it’s own rules. We are merely the ones that have to recognize them before we bend them so far that they break.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	6. June 6, 2016 - 6x17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episode entry on 6x17 "My Heart will Go On"

Hello,

         Preparations for the next phase are underway. I thought it best to attempt to gather new, pure souls that were given life out of a technicality under the impression that it would aid in the final outcome. Thus, Balthazar changed the past and inadvertently greatly altered the future. I knew the risks and understood that any number of outcomes was fathomable, but I did not think the entire plan would be uncovered as quickly as it did. I see now, however, that it was for the better.

         I watched Sam and Dean in this new timeline, how many things were inherently similar with others being drastically different, such as the change in model car. I watched them plan a case, how they would go to different locations and interview witnesses or those that have the potential to be affected. Perhaps there was a chance they would leave the case to itself, but Fate was being far more quick then she normally would be in executing the murders, enough to continue the suspicion. Seeing them interact with Bobby in this new regard, having them speak to Ellen once again... It was odd. Of course, they did not remember what had actually transpired, The Harvelles’ deaths still fresh in even my mind, but that does not mean that pain does not affect multiple timelines.

         The plan was severely hindered once they did figure out the connection to all of the national murders; the Titanic’s safe passage instead of ill-fated voyage. I may not completely understand Balthazar’s choice in alias, but if it was enough to tip off Sam and Dean then I will see to it that he does not make such a mistake again. They summoned Balthazar in turn and learned of the entire plan, but Balthazar had sense to fabricate a story, even if it was a very fragile one. Frankly speaking, I do not know why I give him as much free reign as I do... But he is one of the few angels that accept free will. Balthazar will have to do.

         Balthazar tells them of the risks that would come with going back to sink the _Titanic_ , of Ellen and Jo’s deaths. They instantly stopped the train of thought completely. The camaraderie between these people is truly astounding, for them to not risk losing each other. They just may be able to reverse Fate once again.

Balthazar could see me in the room with them, but neither Sam nor Dean could. When Dean asked who was after the souls Balthazar seemed to think stretching the truth was the best way to go about the situation, but I do not believe my trench coat to be so “dirty.” He did not tell them outwardly my intentions for the souls, even if they were not the most admirable, but I do not understand what he was insinuating. Perhaps he has too much free will with his choice of words...

Of course they would want to attempt to save these souls, the 50,000 souls that were never meant to be born. They would surely encounter Fate. I cannot let them face her alone, not yet, anyway. They saved one lawyer from Fate’s initial attempt, and while her face did display a rather interesting shade of color it did not deter her. The man did eventually pass, only far worse than originally planned for him. These souls’ deaths are my fault, I will acknowledge that to myself, but they are necessary. We needed the souls.

I was on the other side of the street when Sam saw Fate. At first I thought he had seen myself, but I had remained invisible. He had not seen me after all, but I saw Fate turn on the entire gas system in the restaurant when they had entered. This was never what I had envisioned. Fate not only had a vendetta against myself, but also against Sam and Dean, therefore now that they were intervening with her attempt to right our change in history they had inadvertently signed their own sessions with Fate. This was something I could not allow to happen. That is why I saved them from the fireball that would have killed them. Sam and Dean cannot die for my mistakes.

I tell them what I can, leave out what they cannot know. Under current circumstances it is best to carry a fragment of truth within each lie, but that does not mean they come easy. Is this something that also comes with free will? This feeling of guilt. I am trying to save the ones that I care about, but at what cost? They do not understand now, but perhaps they will soon. I told them that the only way to save the souls that remain is to kill Fate, to end her completely. Balthazar had a weapon to kill her, which was true, but tempting Fate and killing her are two very different things. Sam and Dean needed to draw her out before Balthazar and I could finish her off. It was time to end this.

Sam and Dean performed true to their word in very interesting circumstances. In another time I would even go so far as to say that watching them attempt to not die was almost amusing, but this is not that timeline. Atropos had made her appearance. Now it was time to speak with her directly, try to have Fate see reason. It is not a deal that would be made easily.

Fate’s entire life was to write a script, to follow a set of rules and witness the final outcome. There were no ways out, no do overs. It was one script that could not change... But even scripts have revisions, times in where stories are not meant to go their original ways. Surely she could see that? Freedom is preferable. Freedom is needed.

She knew my true intentions. She knew what she needed to say to get me to oblige to her demands. I could not fight that, not if she acted upon her words, which I knew she would. Fate could not die, for her wrath and her sisters’ wrath would mean bringing about an entirely new apocalypse. There was only one option, to revert this entire timeline null and take a different route. A revision to be scrapped.

Sam and Dean awoke in the Impala, as they should be, but I did not want them to forget what they had experienced, what they had learned about Fate. Sam and Dean were the ones to show me that there was more to this worlds than a set of instructions. With their recent losses they needed to be reminded that one does not have to be ruled by Fate. You can choose freedom. There is merit to those words that I have found solace in these past few months, and it is something that they need to know so that they know why I am choosing to do what I am doing, why I need to do this.

Dean asked about the souls, about Balthazar’s choice to do what he did to begin with. I could not tell them. We were at war. The less then knew about these matters the better, and the less danger I place them in the better off they will be. It is a lie out of necessity.

If only that made that lie easier to tell.

        

Yours,

Castiel


	7. June 7, 2016

Hello,

            I did not realize just how infatuated humans were with magic. Granted, millennia of observation will apparently only gleam so much information, but to have created literary worlds entirely based on the idea of a school in where students are taught magic... the notion does not surprise me and yet I am still amazed.

            I spent the day reading, as it were, when I came across this world. This Wizarding World with its secret passages, magical classes, and very compelling characters all battling the evilest of creation, one of their own gone rogue. It is almost poetic, is it not? Charlie had placed the books that inspired this magic in the library such a long time ago, but in only having seen them now here, miles from the bunker, I realized I only vaguely understood the power that the pages held. Yes, I had read the series long before, and it for a series to spawn such another realm within human proportions, free of the supernatural and actual magic that we know is a remarkable feat. The attractions, sales, props form films, and story all build up, but even more so when they are referenced with even more meaning then intended.

            I remember a time when Sam and Charlie would speak of this world, enough so that it made me think the world to be real at first, like Oz, for example. Charlie would go on to talk about houses and magical sports. It was an entirely different world that paralleled the one we lived in, and yet through Charlie’s eyes it seemed as if they were one and the same, only they were opened through a different door with a different key. This world seemed to showcase magic in an entirely different light than I had known, and even in the brief time that we spoke on the matter I learned much on the subject of Hogwarts and this Wizarding World. Castles are no small feat to conceal, after all, and Charlie was more than willing to help me learn more about these houses and what they stood for.

            She would go on about each house, their likes and dislikes, what each one meant to the magical world as a whole and their roles in the past series where the world lives. She spoke of the many theories that talk of how the wolrd is now, long since removed from the battle that tore it apart. With so much detail I cannot help but wonder myself if perhaps this world does indeed share another reality like Oz does. I had yet to discover it if that were the case, but I would very much like to see these corridors and common rooms for myself, speak to the professors and students and learn of each house. 

            Charlie had said that my sorting would be difficult, but stated that Sam would be Ravenclaw and Dean would be Hufflepuff, Sam for his ingenuity and Dean for his loyalty. I saw both choices as indicative of their personalities, but what of the other houses? Gryffindor, house of the brave, and Slytherin, house of the cunning? Or would I join Sam or Dean?

            Regardless, in thinking about that world today I cannot help but think about Charlie, the one that had instantly wished to become my friend. She was indeed, and she was gone too soon. I will never forget the circumstances that lead to her death.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	8. June 8, 2016

Hello,

            It seems to be National Best Friends Day? I was unaware that this was a holiday until earlier in the day as I saw children screaming it out and offers being given out from different suppliers.

            Do I have a best friend? What constitutes one? And to have a best friend must denote that there is only one that can fit the category, therefore how difficult it must be to choose only one individual, no? What separates this one person from others that stands out, that would warrant such a title, and why must there only be one to begin with? This is why I am unsure of whether or not I have one.

            Would it be Sam? We speak often and converse on a variety of different topics, and he did allow for me to borrow his Netflix account, something I have often heard associated with best friends. He has helped me learn more about pop culture and hunting over the years, and in turn I have confided in him about Dean just as Sam has done in me.

Or perhaps Charlie? She did say that we had become best friends, and she quickly spoke with me about a variety of topics, asking what things I enjoyed over others and what I liked to do in my spare time. She was trustworthy, a person I could rely on, especially during the ordeal with Dean and the Mark of Cain. Had it not been for her, I sense that matters would have gone an entirely different route than they did. I cannot help but wonder if her claiming me as her best friend thus sealed the title.

            Yes, both are worthy candidates for being a best friend, but that does not make the decision any less difficult. Both have helped me learn, helped me help others, help Dean…

            What about Dean?

            Yes, Sam has aided in my learning of free will, and Charlie was a person that I wished to have gotten to know more, but in both cases Dean has also done the same. He was my charge, only that was how everything began, was it not? It is no longer the same now, not at all. Where Sam and I would research, Dean would make me go out to brothels. Where Charlie and I would speak in the bunker, Dean would take me with him while on a beer run. They are all similar, and yet… Are they? Dean has taught me far more than I had ever gleaned to learn in my entire existence, does that not make him the most viable candidate? Or am I thinking of this all wrong?

            … These are the things I would ask Dean, about life and these unexpected decisions I did not know I had to make so as to properly celebrate holidays, but he is not here right now to give me that piece of mind, to help me understand.

            …

This is all so confusing.

Yours,

Castiel

 


	9. June 9, 2016

Hello,

            Being an ornithologist must be invigorating for a human. I have seen far too many species to count, but to document and record them is of an entirely different motive. They study birds and their different behaviors without ever having experienced the chance to fly alongside them, and yet that does not deter them from continuing to do so.

            Birds are a small fascination of mine; I enjoy seeing and interacting with them, seeing them fly around and learn about their wings just as I remember myself having done. Angels and birds have been closely related because of this similarity that we share, thus to see different birds from all corners of the world and share with them the same struggles and teachings whilst learning and maintaining to fly is very unique for us.

            Each species of bird carries with it its own story, and depending on the context with which the species is located there are certain supernatural characteristics that fall with that particular bird; a connection to angels is therefore not uncommon. I present an example in the cardinal, a sprightly bird that can be found in different areas along North America. There is a story that applies to these birds in particular that I have elected to find faith in, not because of the myth, but rather because it only seems to have continued to ring true with every passing year. I doubt Dean would have known, but Sam might have; cardinals are oftentimes considered a representation of a loved one that has passed, be it recently or many years ago. There are stories telling of cardinals coming to houses with not specific purpose, rather instead they will be outside of windows looking into the humans that reside there. They are thought to come when a deceased member of the family wishes to see the living once more, this I can corroborate to an extent. Heaven once did carry a flock of birds that would come and go as they pleased, but we neither controlled them nor know just what their intentions were. This is why I believe it likely that there is more credible evidence to this than many give it.

            I have seen my fair share of the bird after a passing; or rather, I had noted it more after the deaths of Sam and Dean’s loved ones over the years. Cardinals or neighboring forms of birds would show up unexpectedly, one once having invaded the bunker and made its residency there for some time without us having realized it. That had been not too soon after Kevin’s death. I have since grown accustomed to recognizing these birds are far more than I originally had when I was just an angel. They are no longer just fellow fliers in the skies, keeping us company; they are fallen comrades returning to make sure that we are okay. I would like to think that perhaps my brothers and sisters are in fact somewhere near as a result, if they can send these birds to check on us. It may be wishful thinking, but I do not believe so. A cardinal’s eyes can contain much more than you would think.

            This all culminates to my wonder as to why I have yet to see one cardinal after Dean’s death.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	10. June 10, 2016

Hello,

 

The concept of "fast" is greatly discussed in a variety of topics with varying definitions. To be fast in one location does not necessarily mean that one is fast in all, and yet humans continue to generalize the term in every day language. This I have seen when Dean had first used the term "ASAP," or in other words another way to calculate speed of a delivery. 

 

I would like to assume that the cases that we have accomplished in the past to be considered fast, but given that some cases can take weeks or months at a time depending on the severity would disqualify that idea fairly quickly. Speed is not everything however. Going too fast does not prevent water flooding the engine of a car. It will only lead to the increasing danger that it can threat when one goes too fast too soon. This, I learned all to well in attempting to outwit an entity I thought had long since forgotten about his children so long ago. I see now that this was never truly the case. I hastened my downfall while blinded by the notion that I could become a truer God, a better version; in this case I had gone too quickly and hit the proverbial water.

 

Sam and Dean have done this, too, and on more than one occasion. This lesson has repeated itself in many cases as a result, this need to finish as quickly as possible. One must take the necessary precautions while on a case, otherwise it may lead to unsolved key points that can go amiss, likely resulting in the being resurfacing after a time. Dean has told me it has happened on more than on occasion for him in the past, be it out of mistake for wanting to be somewhere else with the idea that he would return to see to his brother quickly. It nearly resulted in Sam’s demise had it not been for his father showing up when he had, though what happens after that story Dean has not told me much about. I suspect John Winchester’s parenting skills were not of the best sort for Dean if his eyes had been anything to go by. The notion still remains: humans wish to have parts of their lives of by quickly for a variety of different reasons, but what does that accomplish completely? Why skip over the learning just to get to the goal if you are unprepared? This is where taking one’s time is important, where learning from one’s mistakes will cause growth as opposed to none at all. A car’s engine is heated when going quickly, but once it hits the water that is the thing it wishes to breeze over it stalls, the water hitting the hot engine and causing it to flood. 

 

It is a good metaphor for this entire message, is it not?

 

Yours,

Castiel


	11. June 11, 2016

Hello,

            This entire website seems to have gone into utter chaos today… Is it another apocalypse like akin to the one that occurred in April? No one seems to be hurt, but it is very difficult to navigate the internet at present.

            This has seemed to increase in frequency over the last few months, the utter change in a website within a matter of hours. I suppose it is unwise to think that a site would stay the same, of course, but still for it to alter itself and throw its servers into a frenzy is much more complex and intricate than I had ever thought possible. Each owner is a presumed sentient being, therefore for everyone to collectively agree to hold themselves into this throng for the next 30 hours is utterly a testament to the human species, how quickly minds can get behind a movement that up until recently had only been seen once a year towards the end of July.

            For my part I do not know if I will partake in this, but perhaps I may be looking further into some entries from other areas to see just what is that makes this entire movement function so well. I have seen dolls that have been thrown into red paint, pictures of various animals in eveningwear, and more than one caption on a rather odd image that moves; but it only seems to me that this is the start of what is to come? Neither Sam nor Dean would know how to go about this situation, I do not think.

            My apologies, but I have to go. I fear if this escalates any further I will have to step in somehow, though I do not particularly know how.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	12. June 12, 2016

Hello,

            Words cannot express the amount of sorrow and pain that I felt worldwide today. An attack cause by one individual to result in the worst mass shooting in the history of the United States is something that should not be taken lightly, after all. Orlando is known as the city beautiful, therefore for this to have occurred there, and at a known icon for solidarity and happiness no less… truly devastating.

            It is difficult to write in such a time, one marked by the sorrow of loved ones still not yet sure if their brothers or sisters are okay and well, or if they are one of the victims lost to this heinous act. There is one thing that I must recognize, however, and that is through this darkness there is a hope in humanity that I have only ever seen in the most desperate of times.

            People are lining the streets across all of Orlando, waiting just to give any part of blood that they can to help those affected and those in need. The love that I see before me refills a sense in my mind that I had long since thought was impossible to refill. Much can be said about humanity and what it has struggled through, the countless millennia of battle and war with brief moments of peace. I have seen that first hand multiple times, but what continually astounds me is the level of outreach that comes from these terrors, from these crimes meant to destroy the faith humans have for one another. There is an ingrained sense of the need to help within every human being, and be it as it may, I saw it once again when thousands waited to give a hand and support the ones that they could.

            Kindness is something I have spoken about, and the reason that it continues to come up, even after so much strife and wallow, is because humanity rises up to do so. When presented with destruction, Humanity ceases to flinch, even if there is much that still remains unknown in these present times. They are flawed just as much as I myself am flawed, this I learned early on, but they come to help and aid each other in dire situations. Strangers from all over will help others, regardless of race, ethnicity, or sexual orientation. The love and outpouring of support that I have heard in prayer and in presence leaves me in awe, but there is still much work to be done I am afraid.

            Today I was shown once again what it truly means to be a human, to give love today and show others that they are cared for. It shows that this world, for all that is wrong, still has the beauty in it that makes some things right.

            This is why I, too, pray for the victims and families of those affected in Orlando, and I think all those that aided in the efforts to help in any way, be it by spreading information or by going outside and physically donating. This is a day that will be remembered not in grief or as a statistic in a history book, but rather a day where the world once again showed that the darkness will not destroy it.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	13. June 13, 2016

Hello,

            I have raised far too many questions than answers in the past, at times incessantly so, but over the years I have realized that asking the right questions is what led to realization, what leads to some form of the beginning of change. I went from one that followed orders blindly to one that started to think about all that was at stake when considering a decision. To stress this enough would still not make the message clear, but the questions that come in daily and the answers that results from them not only allow for me to continue to learn about this world around me, but also to learn about the ones that live in it, the ones that are adjacent to the supernatural and the life that Sam and Dean lead. It has been a worthwhile experiment and experience, and for that I cannot help but ask even more questions.

            Humans are inherently curious, this much I have known for all of creation. To be a subject of their questions, however, is an entirely different predicament. This reminds me of when I first met Sam after I had rescued Dean, how he was shocked to have realized that angels were in fact very real. Not soon after he proceeded to ask many, many questions. Dean asked himself of course, but his questions were more of a different nature. 

Over the years the questions morphed. They went from, “How do you fly, man?” to “Why do you keep coming back?” From, “Why didn’t you save the dinosaurs or something,” to “Why couldn’t you save them?” Some questions only become more difficult to answer as time continues and as I learned more about the Winchesters in particular. They have suffered so much, enduring a thankless job that oftentimes will leave them with far more wounds than bruises. They never asked me that last question; it was a question I would ask myself. Yes, it was a question that I would wonder about when Dean had broken his leg or when Sam had been mortally wounded. I would try, but it seems I was not always as successful as I would hope I could be. That does not mean I have since learned to stop asking myself this question.

Over this past year I have learned that there is far more to asking a question and getting an answer one expects. Oftentimes the answer is concealed in a linguistic sonnet that is open to interpretation. The very questions that I have asked Sam and Dean especially have resulted in that. Sam would oftentimes be more than forthcoming with his answers, but Dean would be more reserved when it would come to me asking how he was after a particularly emotionally draining hunt. I could see that it affected him more so, but he would not answer me truthfully. This is what I mean by a linguistic sonnet, even if Dean is terrible with words.

I have learned much by asking questions, and I will continue to do so as time continuous, but for now, as I see birds flying over the bog, I am left with the gratification that I am on a much more stable platform now than I was all those years ago, figuratively speaking. In living so long as I have, I was only a follower. Today, I am beginning to be a thinker.

Yours,

Castiel


	14. June 14, 2016

Hello,

 

I received a postcard in the mail today. It was of a forest, though there was no return address or even a hint as to whom the letter was from. It merely had a, "Wish You Were Here" embezzled on the front. Who would send me such a card, and more importantly, how does this person know where I am?

Postcards are a notion I only recently understood and learned more about. The Winchesters do not often get mail, if at all, given our location and it's secrecy; I must confess that these days that does not sound as true a statement as it once was ironically enough. Nevertheless, to be given a card from the local postman asking for a name he has never heard of in his like is quite an experience for those that had absolutely no idea what was going on. The card itself was rather simple, but the gesture was nice if I knew who it was from. In the picture is a forest, tall dark trees surrounding every way imaginable. Wherever this forest is it has no intentions of ever being claimed by globalization of the human race. It is a forest that seems to breathe life, it's mass of expansive land a mystery to me entirely. I have traversed many forests with Dean, purgatory included, but the world of this post card seems to be purgatory's polar opposite. Perhaps this place is where memories are restored, where ones can relive better days. It seems inviting enough, but from what I have learned about postcards it is that they are snapshots of moments meant to be shared from one to another. Someone wishes for me to see this picture, to see what he or she sees if by mere chance. 

The card looked worn, no doubt having travelled a great deal, but there is no manner of knowing where it came from, for me to identify the sender. It is a tragedy for me, for I would like to thank this person and ask them more about why they sent me such a gift. The trees in the postcard look almost like the ones found in Kansas near the bunker, but that is the only detail I could muster. 

Wait. 

There is a back to this post card!

I had assumed that the writing was attached to the picture, but I see now my name written clearly on the back. Or rather, the shortened version of my name. The penmanship does not resemble any I could recognize, but it also looks as if that was the intended idea. The letters are written with far too much care for it to be a quickly written word to be sent. That does not aid me in narrowing down suspects, but it does give the assumption that whoever wrote this postcard wished for me to know where they were and that they are close to me. 

....

Could it be?

 

Yours,

Castiel


	15. June 15, 2016

Hello,

 

            It is common knowledge that ghosts and phantoms can be trapped within the confines of a mirror. I have witnessed such occurrences that span hundreds of years, each family covering every and any mirrors when a loved one had passed so as to avoid this. Something I had yet to come across, however, was a picture frame. They do not hold the same tale of horror as mirrors have, but nevertheless they can still capture and remember the deceased in a much more benign manner.

            Picture frames, and the very pictures within them, are fragments of memories preserved forever in a small rectangular moment. Sam and Dean do not have many of them around, unfortunately, but the few that they do have hold of great importance to both of them. I had never been present in a picture until Bobby had taken one of me nearly before we confronted Lucifer nearly 6 years ago now, a picture that is framed and can be found sitting in Dean’s room. Those were final memories for Ellen and Jo, after all.

            I do carry a few pictures on my person, or rather, I used to for many a time before I left them in safe keeping in the bunker. They were wrinkled photographs, no frame protection unfortunately. Many of Sam and Dean’s pictures are like this as well, rubbed off at the edges from travel and retrieval. The subject of a photo in a picture frame can be immortal, but the world around it still continues to affect it nevertheless. I believe there is a lesson about immortality in there somewhere.

            To already have a picture frame is to say that there was a shopping excursion that occurred so as to procure the item. We had gone to several stores during this particular trip in search of other items, hunting supplies and clothing, but Dean had stopped in front of an antiquities store after we had made our purchases. The store itself was small, but it had a sense of familiarity to it, items in the store dating back to the early revolutionary war. There were letters, pens, quills, and various ticking clocks decorating the walls from what we could see on the outside of the store. Dean asked Sam and me to stay outside while he had gone in, a request I understood. He was never one to show more emotion that he had to, even in front of Sam and me.

            We honored his request, allowing him time to look through the various wares that I assume were in the store, therefore when he emerged with only a vintage lamp instead of the frame that he said he would get I was confused. It was only after I saw where he had placed Mary’s picture that I understood.

The picture showed its age, therefore putting it into a frame only hid the beauty that it’s edges showed. To place it under a light where it would continually shine made much more sense then. Dean’s mother is far too important to him to be contained in a frame. I did not comment on his placement of the photograph, however. Perhaps after a few beers he would say something akin to what I believe his intentions are, but nevertheless it is a memory worth keeping private, only to be shared voluntarily and if he so chose to.

 

Yours,

Castiel

 


	16. June 16, 2016

Hello,

         I have been here for a very long time. I have seen volcanoes rise from the sea, entire lands build themselves from the ground up. There is no “what came before” for me; I have lived through much of it to know. The nature that spans the earth is full of secrets. It is the gem of a stone from deep underground both figuratively and literally, but it is also an important feat to ponder, especially in the face of Armageddon, an event that I have had more than my fair share in experience.

         There are smaller details that highlight the bigger ones, how entire ecosystems can thrive in a world that oftentimes is too unpredictable to assure a tomorrow. I have seen schools of fish in the ocean band together when in the presence of a shark, therefore today I would like to remember a time in where Sam, Dean, and myself found enough time to live, enough time to look at these smaller details.

         Sam and Dean have been to beaches in their time, but not for such a time that would allow for them to enjoy it as if they were on vacation. That does not stop them from looking out into the view, something I too have done many a time. During this particular moment it had been a few months after Dean and I had returned from Purgatory, after many events that prevented us from appreciating the massive amounts of color in the world. It had been quite some time since I had seen a sunset, but that night, after so much strife, nature rewarded us with a sight.

         I know I have spoken of sunsets, of how the clouds and lights paint the sky into a frenzy of color. They promise an end as well as a beginning. Sitting there on the beach, even in extremely uncomfortable clothing (there was far too much sand in my coat afterward), I not only saw color for the first time in months, but also Sam and Dean letting down just a few layers of their guard, enough to give them the pleasure to fully take a day in completely. Both had beers—we were sitting on lawn chairs in front of the Impala—not too far from the beachline. For a moment it was as if the trials and the year of purgatory had been nonexistent, enough time for this moment to feel a unique sense of normalcy; but at this length I do not know what normalcy is and if it even applies to any of us anymore.

         I have been alive for a very, very long time, but it has taken me millennia to appreciate all that I see around me. The color; the air; the fish fighting for their lives in the wake of the water; Sam and Dean looking far younger then I had seen them for some time. It was a moment of peace. Someday Sam will find that peace again, even if his brother is no longer with him. I can only hope I can do the same.

 

Yours,

Castiel

 


	17. June 17, 2016

Hello,

         Blue Tangs seem to be very forgetful creatures, though I had never thought about the matter as deeply as I currently do. There are various fish in the see of a variety of different sizes, and yet it appears as if this particular breed is seen as one that is not known to remember much about their life. It is rather tragic in that regard, having this state of perpetual amnesia, but how it seems to be only found in this particular fish is rather odd. I have seen these beings in their natural habitat, but not once have I seen one that speaks the colloquial English of humans in the same regard. It seemed almost larger than life, this particular character. Sam would have enjoyed conversing with it, I would think.

         They are defensive creatures, these fish; and therefore should not be taken lightly in the slightest. They can be poisonous to humans, something I remember Dean finding out after a case in an aquarium in where the fish were being used as protection by the siren that lurked within the tank. These fish are not meant to be pets in the slightest. Perhaps that is a lesson in and of itself, a thing of beauty holds many secrets that should only be divulged at the being’s discretion. Accidental brushing of the colorful creature can result in bed-ridden rest for a week, this Dean found out rather poorly. For myself I rather enjoyed seeing them in their natural habitat, even if the siren had been wreaking havoc upon the patrons of the aquarium. It was connected to the ocean; anything could be in these tanks, supernatural or otherwise.

         Angels can be seen in a smaller version of this same idea, I suppose the idea being that there are colors in even the broadest of breeds, how a small fish that others may deep defunct or inexperienced can wind up becoming one of the most vital needed for survival, at all extremes. This blue tang, with its bright eyes, is one that I cannot help but relate to in that regard. We may be forgetful or misunderstood, but we both have gone to great lengths to find that which has been lost, to find something that we had not yet known we desperately needed.

         I had seen fish flounder in the eyes of the unknown, humans cower in the very same regard, but if this fish has taught me anything today it is that one must keep swimming; one must keep fighting.

         It is interesting how we can find solace and learning in the most bizarre of places.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	18. June 18, 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misha had a gishwhes call-a-thon, so this was inspired by that

Hello,

         I spent the majority of today on the phone. Customer service was something that I had grappled with briefly in my time as a sales associate (it came as a prerequisite for the job), but today had been particularly exhaustive. Not exhaustive in the sense that it was not pleasant, rather exhaustive because I was put on hold for a considerable amount of time. Calling into customer service is a much different experience than it is to be in charge of it at a gas station.

         A part of me at a time wondered if perhaps this was similar to the situation that Bobby had with his connection and interconnected web of hunters that he would help across the United States. What would happen if he was on another call when another hunter was to have called in, or when he was hunting with Rufus or Sam and Dean? Manning the phones in such extremes is vital then, therefore to call a call center and maintain it for a period of time is a very tall task indeed. Call centers that are erected purely for charity, hence, are infinitely more special. This I have realized in watching telethons on television and casually calling some myself out of curiosity. I had done that once while Sam had been out on a beer run and Dean asleep.  Neither Winchester had been particularly pleased when a mailman turned up in Lebanon a week later with a present as a token of gratitude from the telethon service agency. That did not stop Dean from eating the pastries, however.

         The reason for my calling in particular today was more to ask for information from other hunters that Bobby had kept track of, names I could remember and found easily, even if some were under alias. They knew nothing about the whereabouts of Sam unfortunately, and after accidentally having called a scavenger hunt hotline and being put on hold for roughly two hours and forty-seven minutes I found out a considerable amount of information that, while not helpful to this particular task, was in fact very insightful and intriguing. They had had activities throughout their event including defacing faces with pie as well as cutting others’ hair for charity.

This did not help me, however. I have to refocus. Dean would not be particularly pleased about me having lost Sam so quickly, more so that I have yet to find him. I must keep searching.

         Which means I must see if I can locate more numbers with potential information.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	19. June 19, 2016

Hello,

...

It is Father's Day in the United States. In previous years I have had reason to celebrate, and then reason not to celebrate. It is very difficult to rejoice over the presence of a Father when until recently only four angels had seen Him. I was not able to speak with Him when He was here, with us, but that does not mean I do not resent my Father. I had faith for a very long time before I even saw Him, therefore knowing of Him is not the concern. The lack of being able to carry a two way conversation is the concern. 

I pray regularly, even after all that has happened. I used to do so more often before, before the Apocalypse and before the Winchesters, but for now it remains the only way I can speak with my father. To listen is one thing, and to hear is another. Which one God does is no longer as big of a mystery as it once was to me. There are so many connections on the head of a pin that it is inevitable that the pillar falls at some point, but that does not mean this issue is absolute for everyone. I believe I had what Dean would refer to as, "daddy issues."

There were other years, better years, when it came to this day in particular. Human holidays not directly associated to angels were not as specifically registered for most, but I had always found it confounding why such a day existed before I understood the capacity for it. After that, I had seen it more as a day to pray far more fiercely that before.  With time and experience, and especially after the Winchesters and Jimmy Novak this day changed entirely. As for the present all that I can think about is what Claire must be thinking on these days. Father's Day, thus, became more about the bonds between father and daughter after Claire returned, all the tears she must have shed and the years of presents that she missed. Because of me. 

Which is why I try to make it up to her on these days, even if that may seem impossible. I write to her often, Claire; ask her about Jody and how she is doing in her studies. I try to send her gifts whenever possible, but I know I cannot and should not even think that I can replace Jimmy, that I can stand in his place as a father figure for Claire, but I do wish to be there for her of and when at all possible. I can only hope she allows for me to do that. 

 

Yours,

Castiel


	20. June 20, 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the start of the "reverse entries," a series of episode rewrites that came every monday on @castielsentires. They can also all be found within their own fic on Ao3 under my author page. You can read them here every 7-8 entries or so, or read them without interruption there. 
> 
> This entry was based on 4x01, the first time we see Cas.

Report:

         The first seal has broken. The time of Revelations is upon us. We have work to do, but there is one human that needs to do it, that needs to rise so that the divine plan comes to fruition. Dean Winchester.

         After I raised him I had to return to Heaven to receive further orders. My superiors were not particularly fond of divulging information if they did not need to, but compartmentalizing information is part of the divine strategy, or so they have told me. I had no orders but to watch over the Righteous man, or at least that was what they alluded to when I was ordered on patrol I suspect.

For a man that most likely has no idea why he was reawakened, Dean looked relatively calmed as he staked out the gas establishment. Food and hygiene it a natural instinct, vital; therefore, I was not surprised when this was what he was looking for. Currency and provisions aside, it was still strange how calm, how collected he looked even in a state of panic that I could feel from deep inside him. This was a man that had secrets, ones that I now knew. What made this man so different that it required so much sacrifice… Dean was placed in my charge, therefore it is my responsibility to know more than what I do now. I need to speak with him. He has seen the handprint, but even then there is no more reaction than mild confusion. Like an impossible puzzle missing it’s pieces, It is nearly impossible to find every part unscathed, especially with what Dean has gone through. I am speaking far more than I should be.

Speaking to this man is impossible in my present form. An angel’s true voice can only be heard by a select few, and it seems that Dean unfortunately is not one of these individuals. I nearly destroyed his ear drums in an attempt to tell him that he is needed. This will not do, but it does send Dean to find another human; Bobby. They quarrel for a moment. I know that Dean is a hunter, therefore tests will be taken, but even then I did not expect this type of altercation. It has been some time since I have taken form on Earth, but that is not of import. I cannot reveal myself yet. I need to know what Dean will do. Bobby asks about Hell, but Dean lies. Why did he lie about Hell? The guilt come off of him in waves; Bobby does not seem akin to it. I had thought Bobby was like Dean’s father, the man that gave Dean orders. It seems Dean does not take his orders from Bobby at all, but he has chosen to find his brother, the boy with the demon blood. Orders are still being followed. He believes that Sam is the one that rescued him from Hell. My, how mistaken he is, but in his speech I learned that he did hear me, if only just. Apparently my voice is grating. I do not know what that implies. No matter. I had reports of Sam in Pontiac, Illinois. The angels had been keeping an eye on him as well over the last four months.

Both men find Sam as well as the demon he was consorting with. They cannot see her true face, but I can. This “Christie,” as it stands, is a danger to the plan. I must speak with Dean, but not yet.

Dean accused Sam, thinking that he made a deal. Now that they know Sam was not the precursor to Dean's raising, they know something else is there. Sam went hunting for Lilith for revenge. Yes, revenge is something that has driven the human race to ruin for millennia. This is normal. Humans are nothing if not creatures of habit… Why am I writing so much on this subject?

They now think that demons are the ones that raised Dean. Uriel must be right in saying that humans seem to have closed minded views on the subject. Sam asked about Hell once more, and once more Dean evades the truth, the guilt and shame rolling off of him. Are these… emotions? Why do I feel them so strongly? It must have a connection to my raising him somehow.

I continue following them for a time before I was called back to Heaven. I am getting the impression that they do not wish for me to “patrol” in the same regard as I thought they had after all. This is strange, but it is not my place to question it. Instead, I am stationed in Heaven overseeing seals. That does not mean I am not sensing a disturbance.

I heard a voice while in Heaven, along with a hand on my left shoulder. It was asking for me to reveal myself. Instantly I knew what this was. It is not uncommon for angels to be summoned.

Pamela Anderson. Psychic. She does not know that spying on one’s true form is very dangerous.  Warning her did not deter her in the slightest, and once the damage was done I was called to file a report about the incident. Zachariah keeps a very tight protocol when it comes to these “mishaps” as he calls them. That does not mean that I feel the shame, like Dean had when he lied. What is going on?

This did not bode well. I wished to not harm her. She seemed to have the best intentions, but she saw my true form; Pamela was not one of those that had the ability to see us. She did succeed in one thing, however: She gave them my name. I need to find a vessel if I wish to engage with them further. Dean cannot be harmed to the point of blindness, not for what he is needed for. 

I asked for jurisdiction to return to Heaven again; I needed to speak with Dean. I had heard that demons were nearing in on Dean; This harms the plan.

When I arrived I found Sam leaving in the middle of the night, Dean alone in the small motel room. This was the most ideal time. I can attempt to speak with him again. If he heard me before, perhaps he will hear better now. It was a naïve assumption, but the only option I had at present. He was just as alarmed then as he was before, a rifle in hand pointed at the door. The more I speak the more damage I seem to do judging by his reaction. The windows once again have split themselves. This will not do. I needed a vessel.

I felt myself being summoned, but this time I am not going to harm them the way I inadvertently had before. Jimmy had accepted me for this very reason. Now I can walk freely without cause or damage. I could speak with the Righteous Man, the one my superiors entrusted me with.

He stabbed me. Understandable, I suppose, but time was being wasted. The first seal had already broken and it would not be long before the others continued. Dean needed to know, but he was the only one who needed to know. Bobby was placed unconscious as a result.

Dean seemed to take the news about our existence rather as I had expected. A man without faith will never acknowledge that which he does not believe in. It was unavoidable, that outcome, but I did not expect to see such pain in this man’s eyes. He has been through far too much and is nearly in shambles as a result, yet he continues to defy orders in favor of what he believes. He does not deserve to be saved, yet he was because he was needed. I did not understand his hesitation after that. He asked why, as to be expected, but it is not the time for total truth in Dean's state. He does not know about potential and his true purpose yet. There is much work to be done and not enough time to do so. This is merely the beginning.  _He_ is merely the beginning.

 

End Report.

 

Castiel

 

 


	21. June 21, 2016

Hello,

         Yesterday marked the summer solstice, the longest day in a recorded year. It also marked a day in where many spells and incantations can be cast, therefore it would often become a rather bothersome day for both angels and the Winchesters alike. The solstice, along with its counterpart in December of any given year, have many different lore and an extensive history associated with them. One such summer solstice was the cause of another seal being broken, another year resulted in my losing my powers temporarily during a hunt, and just last year a witch had attempted to harness the power of the prolonged hours of the sun in an attempt to set fire to her neighborhood. She had not realized that she would also be raising a herd of devils from one of the deepest pits in Hell in the process, hence the need to finish her quickly. What I am trying to say here is that this such of this day is often spent in protection, or at least it has been for the Winchesters and myself together for the past few years. As for now… Well there is solely myself.

         I have not been able to locate Sam, and Dean… Both are gone. There were years when this felt easier, but yesterday was not one of those days. I spent it on patrol, looking for anything out of the ordinary. It almost felt like a routine again, myself on one side of town that had been spreading possible rumors while Sam or Dean would be on the other interrogating or questioning potential suspects. It had usually resulted in a passive observation, but that did not mean it was not dangerous. Yesterday, alone, felt as if the entire task was much more difficult that it once was. Thankfully nothing had happened, but that does not mean I am not reminded of previous years.

         At the beginning of this entry I spoke of having temporarily losing my powers one solstice. There had been a specific alignment that, if manipulated, could result in using an angel’s grace in order to summon a primordial creature and enslave it. The caster had nearly succeeded after having attempted to steal my grace, but what he had not realized was that an angel’s grace could only be taken in a specific fashion. He thought a spell would suffice. It only resulted in my temporarily losing my powers as my grace defended itself. Both Sam and Dean had found it rather amusing during the time, but they no longer felt that way after realizing that they had arrived at this particular town rather quickly due to my having transported them there with only the necessary tools. We did not have the Impala, we did not have an excess in credit cards or badges. It was a rather long day indeed, one that did not end with a bed but rather a very uncomfortable span of forest as we waited for the castor to attempt his spell. After it had subsequently backfired and Sam had taken the castor out completely, Dean hotwired a rather cramped car so as to start driving back to where we had left the Impala four states over. The issue with this however… was that we had been in Alaska at the time.

         My powers did not return for another three days, but we found ways for Sam and Dean to eat and sleep without too much trouble (with the exception of a guard dog in Juneau). Getting into Canada was particularly difficult, but with the identification that we had we were able to traverse without too much incident. Once my powers returned I transported us all back to the motel where Dean had left the Impala. It took a fair amount of time for both Sam and Dean to return to the way they were in the sense that they had their old provisions again, but the entire ordeal was rather odd to begin with I suppose. Regardless, the summer solstice had been secured safe once again. Frankly speaking I find it odd that nothing occurred this year with only me to stop it.

 

Yours,  
Castiel

        

 


	22. June 22, 2016

Hello,

         To everything there is a season, and for every cyclic season there comes both sickness and health in any environment. I have been through many season as a result, but it is one thing to oversee them and another to experience them. It reminds me today of more pleasant times, if they could be considered as such given our lives.

         Not long after I had returned from Purgatory there had been a small window in where no case or lead had arisen for Sam, Dean, and I. I at that point had still to reach a normal level ground after coming back, and though he had slightly more time to do so, I knew Dean was not in any better shape. How could we be? Spending a year in Purgatory is by no means a particularly peaceful experience. We were hunted, Dean as a human and myself as an angel; Monsters from all kinds had us in our sights. To come back from that unscathed was simply impossible, even for us. I knew my reasons for having stayed, however. I had thought it best that I served my penance for my actions.

         Seasons were nonexistent in Purgatory; it was one perpetual moment prolonged by time until it was over. Standing, or rather just being, in any sort of environment after that was a shock. Dean found this out first before myself, but he knew what to do as a result. We had been in a log cabin during the time, surrounded by the quiet nature of the forest, which only made it more difficult to calm oneself given recent experience with such places. Dean as well, which is what lead to Sam stationing us both outside I assume. He had most likely wished that we sit and feel the life that existed in a forest instead of the fear that we had run from for the past year. This is what I am going to continue to assume, but regardless it was much appreciated.

         Neither of us spoke, Dean nor myself. It took quite a fair amount of time outside before we were able to, before we were even able to figure out what was real and what was a memory of the monsters’ cemetery. It was almost amusing at the time, for the very idea of a hunter and an angel being even slightly afraid from doing that which they have done all their lives sounds is impossible, no? That did not mean I felt fear that night. Dean knew. I could feel it in him as well, even if he would not admit to it after I’d voiced my opinion.

         He had waived it off, the idea, but he did not chastise it like I thought he would have. Knowing Dean that most likely means there is a small shred of truth in that statement after all. We have been much together, him and me; words are often no longer as needed as either of us believe them to be it seems. It should be expected I suppose, but that does not mean I am still not surprised by it from time to time. I suspect Dean is as well, though if he has he has remained silent on the subject. We did not speak for the rest of the night; we just enjoyed the others’ company in a forest that for once did not promise danger, but rather rehabilitation in the smallest of forms.

         After a false alarm that resulted in Dean nearly shooting an innocent deer we had gone back inside, but feeling the air breathe along with us, no audible sounds but the very nature that existed around us, brought a small sense of peace back. It was small, yes, and it did take time to feel as if something was not entirely wrong, but that was due to other factors that had been manipulative, not Dean or myself. It was rare, but it was one of the few memories that meant there are some bonds that can withstand even the direst of situations.

I never thanked Sam for forcing us outside that night, but I will once I find him again. Both Dean and I had needed that far more desperately than either of us had imagined.

 

Yours,

Castiel

 


	23. June 23, 2016

Hello, 

I witnessed a man violently consume two gallons of water today after having ingested a green substance; wasabi. As a result, today I wish to speak of a memory, one that invoked visiting a local fish market in a local town with an issue revolving around a sushi restaurant.

The newspapers had reported various dead fish washing ashore as well as local freshly caught fish spoiling upon being ingested at a local Japanese restaurant. Dean had been excited during the time because it meant, and I quote, “sushi and shots, man, and exotic women! How can you not be pumped?” I’m afraid I did not understand his enthusiasm as much as he wished me too. There were people dying from digesting these sushi creations. Women did not seem to correlate.

We had gone to the restaurant so as to speak with the manager, but he would only let us speak with him if Dean could pass his restaurant’s challenge; also the very reason so many victims have died. The challenge involved eating a rather spicy form of sushi topped with a generous amount of the green creamy substance known as wasabi. Those that survived it were given free access to the entire restaurant’s food items. Apparently it had been too good to pass up for the victims. No one had yet to win, but the manager would not let us see him otherwise.

It took us one more day after the challenge for us to realize that the manager was using the victim’s energy to keep his form young. The plan thus became for Dean to stall eating the wasabi filled sushi while Sam and I went in through the back entrance to where the manager would supposedly be.

We had to recite an incantation, which meant Dean had to stall for a longer amount of time than he anticipated. He began by scraping the wasabi off the sushi first so as to avoid the deadly fish, but wasabi alone is not enjoyable either.

After we had taken care of the manager and gone to retrieve Dean his eyes had been bloodshot, all water for all patrons’ glasses empty. He did not stop drinking water for the rest of the night, resulting in more than one trip to retrieve more ice and water.

He did not look at anything green for quite a long time after that, but it gave Sam “a lot of ammo for the next thirty years.”

 

Yours,

Castiel


	24. June 24, 2016 - Destiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soulmate AU

Hello,

         I first felt it when I fell completely. 68 beats per minute, present and forever beating. When I would touch my wrist I could feel the blood pumping there, but I had only assumed it was a human trait, a normal heartbeat. It was only after Dean had slammed on the breaks of the Impala after he had found me at the Gas n’ Sip that I realized it.

         He had turned to me ashen. I felt the beat quicken to well over 90. He had said that he felt it, a heartbeat that was not his own. He thought it had never worked for him because, “God didn’t think I deserved a soulmate or something man, b-b-but I feel it now! The _hell_?”

Of course I had known of the bond my entire life; it was an angel’s task to monitor it after all, but it only occurred to me that Dean did not have one until we saw one another after I became human that perhaps my Father had a different idea in mind for the Righteous Man.

         I should have told him then, but I did not out of fear. Dean would not be pleased in the slightest, regardless of bonds. Upon the inward realization Dean had gasped while he felt his wrist, his smile taking years off of his face. Dean had all but exclaimed that his soulmate must be having intercourse with how fast the heartbeat felt; my heartbeat. He was right that it was fast indeed, but not for the right reason. I did not tell him.

I would test it often towards the beginning. It would be over 130 during a hunt, 160 if he was injured. I would feel it jump whenever he sneezed, lull to nearly 50 beats when he would take the time to sleep 45 if it was peaceful, jolt quickly up twenty beats if he was surprised. They were all very pleasant studies, and oftentimes I was happy to know that I could feel his glee and his stammers, but that did not mean there were not bleak moments. The worse was when I would feel it after he had left Sam and me at the bar with someone else. He would come back after they realized their heartbeats were not aligned.

I did not tell him.

He had no way of knowing unless he tested, but he had to have known even at a deep level no? Sam figured it out in the span of a few months after Dean had apparently confided in him saying “her heartbeat’s too damn slow to be functioning properly. Sammy.” It had been at 30 beats per minute while I had slept, according to Dean. Sam figured it out soon after; after all my heart was not entirely human I suppose. It did not follow customary beating patterns. Dean did not let that stop him from obsessing over it, his hand always on his wrist with a stop watch; this Sam told me. I had been asleep.

I did not tell him.

When I regained my grace fully I thought that I would lose Dean’s pulse, but it was still there, even if it was slightly dulled. I was thankful. Losing this was not something I would have enjoyed in the slightest, especially when the man responsible for it was alive and standing alongside me.

Dean had been silent for many days after I recovered my “mojo,” as it were. His heartbeat fell as well. 50 beats per minute while he was awake, but it was not because he was particularly athletic to warrant such a rhythm. It was only after a particularly rough hunt and more than a few hours of imbibing alcohol that he confessed why he was not himself. Dean had lost my heartbeat.

I should tell him. I should have told him. Instead we drank to Dean’s deceased soulmate. He had said it was most likely for the better, and with his luck maybe his soulmate was a hunter that would come back just as many times as he has. “God knows I probably gave her a heart attack with how many times I died, too,” he had said.

I did not tell him.

The years passed. 58 beats per minute; 77 beats; 112 upon waking up one night and rushing to wake Sam and me with news that he could feel it again faintly; 40 when it disappeared again; 130 in a nightmare. The numbers rose and fell with all that happened in our lives, leading up to the present with the Darkness.

That time was the most troublesome. Even in my state I could feel his pulse. 22 beats when he met Amara. It lowered to the point of near nonexistence after they had kissed, which only sent me into hysterics. I thought that he had died. Lucifer merely laughed at my lament. I could not do anything to help.

When Lucifer was expelled from my body by Amara I felt Dean’s heartbeat far stronger than I had ever before. 165 beats per minute as he helped me up. It did not lower until Chuck returned us to the bunker, a knowing look on his face when he regarded Dean and me. During the car ride to get beer Dean did not have to tell me that it had happened again; he could feel my heartbeat once more, even when faced with the very sun being destroyed.

I felt his pulse rise to 150 while he and Sam went to hunt ghosts to get more souls while I went to Heaven. I felt it spike to nearly 200 when he was fused with the soul bomb, the hand that held my pulse on his wrist now being the trigger that he would use. It lulled to 90 when in the presence of his mother’s grave, but I felt the fear of what was to come. If he succeeded in his plan to stop Amara then he would not return. This was the last time.

I must tell him, but telling him now would make him stop. It would not help his state either.

I did not tell him, but I was surprised instead.

He had chuckled into the hug. “‘Soulmate’s freaked to high heaven, Cas. Didn’t know it could reach over 250,” he’d said, clutching me tightly. I did not know whose heartbeat he was referring to, his or my own, until I’d realized just what he’d said.

I did not tell him.

He told me.

When he was transported away to where Amara was I felt instant grief, an emotion all too familiar. The waiting was agonizing for me and no one else. His pulse was erratic, jumping from 90 to 160 and never stabilizing. Briefly I’d wondered that the other souls in his body were interfering, but that was idiotic. Dean was up there. I did not go with him. It went from 80 to 140, down to 86 and back up to 134—

Then it stopped. Nothing.

Sam had to help me move outside to see the sun revert to normal, to see the world return to its normal colors and setting, but the colors were no longer there. I saw nothing but a frozen moment; the heart was gone.

Someone spoke, asking if the world was saved. Yes, it was, but mine was destroyed.

…

For what seemed like an eternity, I felt nothing. Until…

…

68 beats per minute; present and forever beating.

 “And Dean?” I had asked, but I already knew the answer.

Dean was alive.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	25. June 25, 2016

Hello,

There is no mystery concerning my recent indulgence in the television and film industry. One such intricacy that deals with that, hence, is the genre of romantically charged cinema; that is to say, what Dean has often referred to as “chick flicks.”

How baby chickens correlate to cinematic storytelling is something I have yet to figure out, but thus far witnessing this genre I have found that it can be very emotionally stimulating. The history of this particular set is far more vast than others that I have found, but until recently I had seen very few of them. Sam and Dean are not particularly sentimental when presented with the question, but that does not mean I have not found a few movies in the past in a recently watched queue. It is only a matter of deductive reasoning and slight questioning to figure out who watched what.

I enjoy the genre. It shows very courageous gestures that many might seem far-fetched for social customs, but I suppose they must be considered romantic if they are in so many of these forms of movies. They seem to get very dramatic as well, at times for trifling reasons. Why should one berate the other after having professed their love all because they do not wish to see the other get hurt in such a way? Would it not be better to simply acknowledge each other and continue to live happily? In retrospect I can understand the need for conflict; many movies would not have been made if there wasn’t some form of tension in the protagonist and love interest.

Some would say that they stand for a metaphor for life, the lessons gleaned from fictional realms where there is a happier ending, but that only makes me wonder just how much truth ca be found in these “chick flicks,” as they are. To be named after a baby chicken must count as some sort of red herring, no? There only seems to be a growing number of them appearing in the past few months. There must be some sort of reason.

That does not mean I do not enjoy them as they stand. I only simply do not have someone to enjoy them with at present. After this entire ordeal is settled perhaps that may change.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	26. June 26, 2016

Hello,

         A month has passed since that day, and I am no closer to uncovering the truth than I am in finding Sam. This is by no means the first time that this has happened to us, but that does not make it any less painful.

         There was a time similar to this where the choices that were left established were the ones that I would follow not matter how much I wished them to be different. Sam had sacrificed himself by throwing his body into the cage so as to trap Lucifer, leaving Dean with a promise to keep. He had returned to Lisa for a year, a blissful year… And in all that time I could have gone to him, could have told him that Sam was alive, albeit not entirely in the right mind. The actions that we follow in an attempt to help will inadvertently hurt when we least expect them, but in both situations both past and present I am at a loss as to what to do next.

         There had been instances where Dean had almost seen me, times in where I nearly let myself manifest in his line of vision. I should have gone to him to speak about all that was going on then, but Dean had been retired. He had found his out. Is it then not selfish of me to pull him back in and go against his brother’s wishes? The same applies now, even if these are slightly different circumstances. I lost Sam, but that will not be for long. When I find him again, what will happen? There is a pit that I cannot describe, almost as if I am missing something; something that involves Dean. Do I tell Sam and only further his grief by giving him false hope or do I let Sam find his out like Dean before?

         Thus, here I stand, today nearing the bunker with not idea as to whether or not Sam is still there a month after Dean saved the world from Armageddon. I do not know what happened to Sam after I was expelled, but I cannot imagine a friendly conversation ensuing when one was pointing a loaded gun at a defenseless Sam. I told Dean I would watch over Sam, just like the reverse had occurred before, only this time I am failing miserably. I will not cease looking; not yet, but there is a long road ahead of me that is still left before I find any sort of closure or answer. I can only hope that Dean found solace wherever he may be. I have not had the ability to go to Heaven to check not because I could not… but rather I cannot face Dean without admitting Sam’s current predicament.

         Even with that statement, however… there still lies this pit. There is a missing piece of information concerning Dean that I have yet to know completely, which is another reason as to why I have yet to return to Heaven: I simply believe he is not there.

 

Yours,

Castiel

 


	27. June 27, 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Entry based off 4x02

Report:

6 of my brothers and sisters are dead. This fight is escalating.

We have received orders to continue vigilance and attempt to stop as many seals as possible, but that is proving more difficult than expected. The Rising of the Witnesses has already occurred, an event that we had hoped would not be the case, or rather, that is what I was the reasoning I was given for not aiding in it’s halt. It was strange, but I must follow through with my orders. They are divine orders, given to us with a higher purpose in mind. I am not to question them.

Instead I return to the humans in my charge, these Winchesters. For two humans that have seen far more of the supernatural and existence of such beings, I found it odd that Dean was not as forthcoming in accepting my reasoning than I believed he would have been. Sam is devout, that I have heard from his prayers even if he did not pray directly to one sole angel. Dean on the other hand… In hearing his reasons for believing the way he does I suppose it is understandable. He does not yet know his true purpose, not entirely anyway. I do not either, for that matter… Why do I find that so unsettling? It is not of my concern. I will be told when the need arises. That is how Heaven functions. Without compartmentalizing information there is chaos.

What information is not compartmentalized, however, is Sam’s relationship to the Demon Ruby. They have continued to see each other, and judging from her reaction it is very likely that she wishes to end their questionable agreement upon hearing that angels were responsible for retrieving Dean’s soul. This would have been ideal had Sam not told her to stay, to continue. More will have to be done in attempt to stop this, but not today. Sam looks concerned, but for more than the simple conversation that was exchanged. I cannot get closer without alerting the demon of my presence. Time will only be able to tell me more if I continue this expedition. I do not follow Sam back to the Singer residence.

Instead I return to Heaven to present my findings on the recent conversation between the younger Winchester and the demon, to add the information to what we already know about the recent events between the two in the last few months. It is troubling, but also curious, how he reacted to such exclamations. My superiors did not seem as invested in the idea that there must have been a deeper reason, therefore I must absolve these childish questions and focus on the current predicament. The witnesses are killing hunters, people that could not save them. At some point this will include Dean and his brother. That cannot happen.

I find the Winchesters again at a small station where it appears they refuel their cars. Sam had gone inside to relive himself it seems, but not before a witness followed him in. It was also the most ideal time to speak with Dean, even in slumber. This was also the first that I see dreams in the present. Angels do not dream—there is no need for sleep—therefore inserting oneself into such dreams is unknown territory. I resorted to simply waking Dean up. He must know that there is danger to sleeping. He was wary of seeing me, but I did not come to speak with him for other reasons. Sam was surely about to be subjected to torture if Dean did not get out of the car immediately. It took that much to make the statement into reality before I saw Dean run into the restroom area with a gun. I did not stay for the aftermath of the ordeal.

I was called back to Heaven and reprimanded for such an act. Why was I? I do not understand. There was a threat to Dean in the presence of the ghost attacking his brother, demon blood aside. Surely it was my duty to warn him… I did not understand the repercussions of my actions, but I did act without orders. Despite that, there was no physical consequence. Odd.

In lieu of this, however, I returned to overseeing, watching to see how Sam, Dean, and the older gentleman would fix the Rising of the Witnesses. At least they now know that is what we are dealing with. As I circled the house after Sam rescued the older gentleman, Bobby, from the two children and Dean had shot the woman in the upper floor, I noticed more ghosts crowding around the house. Hunters are exceptional targets for the witnesses to find, it seems, and judging by the fair number of them that are watching outside now Sam and Dean Winchester must have been through more than I was told to believe. What is curious is that no more manifested themselves or entered the house. They were not malevolent despite their abrupt raising. Peculiar, but not of import to the mission.

They enter what seems to be a heavily fortified room to protect themselves from the witnesses for a time. I cannot see entirely what is happening, therefore I bide my time. This seal is already broken with twenty other hunters already dead as a result. I will only interfere if needed, but it is not my place to do so.

A brief struggle ensued after the three exited the room, and after encountering multiple witnesses they did succeed to casting the counter spell to lay the ghosts to rest once and for all. At least no more hunters will perish due to Lillith’s actions.  

Once the men sleep for the night I enter Dean’s dreams, this time successfully and in control. I now understand the principle and I needed to speak with Dean privately without any possible interruption. It was time Dean knew what was going on. The witnesses were a seal we could not stop, and angels are dying. We are a limited force, therefore the more that Dean knows the better the entire force will be in stopping what is coming, in stopping Lucifer from returning to Earth free. This is the order that I am telling myself. It was not given to me in as much detail, but there is a bigger picture here, one that transcends both Dean and myself.

As expected, Dean is wary once more, more agitated at my lack of helping stop the witnesses. There was nothing that I could have done that would have aided in the battle contrary to what Dean might have thought. He may be under my supervision, but that does not mean I must fight every one of his battles. He will learn to know that; the more I attempt to explain after he asked about my Father the more annoyed he seemed to get, therefore I stopped. Time was being wasted bantering. I informed him of the seals, of the witnesses being one of many. Though he attempted to mask it, I could feel his anxiety. It only grew as I spoke about Lucifer. He wishes to not believe it. I cannot say that I blame him for reacting in this way, but at the same time I should not care about his reaction. Dean will understand the gravity of the situation. An angel’s mind does not work like a human’s. There is a plan to this, why this is happening. Dean must believe in it as I do, even if not all pieces are in place. It is the only faith that I have.

I leave him as such. There is no more than I can tell him now, but this is only beginning to get more difficult. Dean nearly died; he said it himself. That was too close to happen again, but I cannot be the one that helps him, not every time. This is beginning to get frustrating, not because of the situation, rather because I do not understand why I am dwelling on the subject.

I must focus on the plan. There is a bigger reason as to why this is all happening. I simply must await further orders.

 

End Report.

Castiel

 


	28. June 28, 2016

Hello,

         Experiencing a headache as an angel is a not dissimilar to experiencing it as a human. The only difference between the two is what causes them, but neither are pleasant in the slightest. They cannot be simply healed or willed away. This includes today.

         I have had headaches in the past as well, but today’s was caused by a search that has led to no new leads. I have effectively wasted a day by not learning anything new, but that is only part of the equation. I am still recovering my normal functions and movements after Lucifer and being expelled from the bunker; I am not at full capacity in the form of being able to stave off such a powerful as a result. They can overtake the mind and immobilize thoughts if left unattended. The very same can be said when I was human and experienced them, though the cause was entirely different.

         It had been when Dean attempted to get me to drink enough alcohol so as to experience a “buzz without the mojo.” What resulted was a migraine far greater than any I had experienced prior. Limbo was nothing; the entire world was upside down for far longer than it should have been in my eyes. For his part Dean was merely amused, even if I could sense he was in a similar state. We had not been on a case at the time, therefore it was not as dangerous to be in such a vulnerable state as it could have been at the time, but that did not stop Sam chastising the both of us, especially for Dean “getting an ex-angel so hungover the guy could barely get outta bed let alone move!” I must confess that his yelling had been far too unpleasant during the time.

         Dean must have shared my sentiment: for he threw a duffle bag at Sam after he had awakened us. I could in not move at all from the waves of fog that my limbs were feeling; Dean was the same. Neither of us moved for the majority of that day, Sam being our only source to get us to eat and take medication for our ailments. I attempted to speak, but I believe the alcohol was still somehow in my system due to Dean’s refusal to speak and answer words that I no longer remember. Sam would often laugh, a sound I did not find helpful during the time, but he would never tell me what I said that sparked such a reaction. Once I had recovered I thought it best to not dwell on the memory longer at the risk of sparking another headache much like the one that I have at present.

         I need to rest.

 

Yours,

Castiel

 


	29. June 29, 2016

Hello,

         I did not know bowling was such a rigorously strategic sport. My apologies for not having spoken on the matter sooner.

         The ball is not thrown in a manner that I had seen before, and yet it is still made to destroy an army of 10 pins on the opposite end of a court, an enemy that seems as if it is impossible to defeat and yet entirely easy to do so. It is a game of skill, one that I very much do not possess.

To “bowl,” as it were, is to align oneself with the goal in clear sight, take the time to approach the problem from just the right angle, and then deliver the crucial blow with just the right amount of force. It sounds easy enough when put in these terms, but in practice there are a number of other factors to consider, such as the fact that the lane in which the ball is meant to traverse is covered in an incredibly slick resin of some sort, therefore should the player go too far and cross this demonic lane, the player will tumble rather terribly to the ground. My back still hurts from just thinking of the memory.

         I did learn a rather valuable lesson in this despite believing it would have a fairly small chance of aiding me as I had originally thought upon entering the sport establishment with Sam and Dean that night. There was no pressing case, thus Sam convinced Dean to do something different while we were outside of the bunker. I partially believe the only reason Dean had agreed was because Sam had led me to believe that “bowling” was the art of crafting kitchen bowls. It was only after I had voiced my opinion that Dean started getting out of the motel bed and headed towards the Impala.

But to continue with my story, I was reminded of the principle Dean had often referred to as “extremely dumb luck” after I had managed to knock all 10 pins down during my what I had considered an anti-climactic fall. According to Sam, it had been “funny enough to completely throw Dean off his game the rest of the night.” Effectively Sam had won that day, but not without nearly getting decapitated after Dean threw his ball backwards instead of forwards. We were asked to leave soon after.

In hindsight I suppose I only learned that Dean does not like to lose.

 

Yours,

Castiel

 


	30. June 30, 2016

Hello,

            There is a history to madness, the ability and inability to see a plan come to fruition. It can come in any shape and even at the most inopportune moments; madness has no conception of time. It is never necessarily always a malignant form either. What many humans refer to as miracles can derive from madness. As a result, most near death experiences are miracles: an event that is averted either by divine intervention, narrowing escapades, or a combination of the two and more. But likewise many magnifying, seemingly deranged, detailed occurrences in the lives we lead can also be considered miracles. I once believed in a destiny that I did not understand, but by the very nature of these occurrences I believe that I myself have found my own shelf in a human life. Angels are said to perform miracles, but could angels have miracles in turn? This is what I am beginning to believe now, or rather this is what I have seen over the last decade. Life can be meddlesome and infuriating, but through those very moments it can lead to something greater that was unforeseeable.

            Take myself as an example. For all intents and purposes I am an angel of chaos just as I am an angel of Heaven. I was not always this way, but as time wore on and the more that I found myself living rather than observing I found that the very chaos that I found was my salvation; my miracle. To pinpoint the exact moment would drive any one person insane, myself included, but regardless the outcome is the same. Sam and Dean’s lives are no different. If anything they are the epitome of what I writing about today.

From the very chaos that they have been subjected to (some would argue wrongfully so) both brothers have emerged on the side of free will, on the side of what they believe in as opposed to what they have been steered to believe and told to follow. I have seen it get to them, yes, but I have never seen them submit to it, and by that I mean submit to the lives that on countless occasions they have fought to keep instead of throw away. If you have yet to understand just why so much has happened over the last decade and counterbalance it with just so much that has been stopped in the same time, then you will begin to understand. Sam and Dean are two humans that have had Hell and Heaven thrust upon them literally so, but they have produced their own miracle in perseverance. This is where I believe I have learned my own.

To humans, angels are said to bring upon miracles, but I think that, speaking from experience, humans have the capability of creating their own for others as well.

 

Yours,

Castiel


End file.
